Billie

Throwing out old newspapers and magazines this afternoon I found this photo of Billie from 1995. I've found her attractive since - oh - 1989 and never done a thing about it. As usual I believed I had nothing to offer. A nice normal intelligent working class woman, still bump into her most weeks. She's in a relationship of course - isn't every woman worth wanting?

Outgoing, funny, bright, ok face, good figure, really shapely waist, hips, bum, and thighs.

I put it here just to show I don't fancy extraordinary women, I fancy women who would be - would have been - in my league had I not made myself fat and ruined my health.

Back to Openness

I've become doubly and stupidly embarrassed to post topics here that might make me look small or perverse in H's eyes. A tiny part of the emotional me hangs on to a distant hope that I can win her to me, and cries "don't write that, it will lesson your tiny chance once you've put your life and health in some order". The thinking me knows that while little is utterly impossible, the chance of this is so vanishingly small as to be not worth considering. Another part of me forgets that I've already revealed my core of seediness and perversity on previous blogs and she has read them, so she already knows about me.

Had I expected to fall for her I would have never have mentioned these things at all, but I didn't expect to fall and I have mentioned them.

This was not a problem with Ian, he already knew my sexual outlook at least in overview, as does Olga. Olga indeed knows more than anyone. Rh has a good idea of my proclivities if not an understanding of the details, and given that she told me quite recently, without encouragement from me, that she likes giving head but doesn't like getting eaten out herself, I can't imagine she would or will be shocked. John also knows my tastes and I know his, so if he finds this blog he won't be taken aback. And I was never going to fall any of them, they're the wrong sex or too old for my tastes.

I resolve to be open again, and see if writing about my sexuality and my pornography helps me, and forget about what effect it might have on other people's opinions of me. As for H, she either likes me as a person despite what she already seen and read, or she doesn't. The worst I'm doing is reminding her of something she already knows.

To begin with I've republished several posts that I wrote and then reduced to Draft status from shame.

Henceforward back to openness.

False Measure

I've just realised that I shackled myself when a young man by trying and failing to live up to an imaginary and impossible ideal of what I had to be to have a chance with women, rather than looking at the other young men, young couples around me, and realising that I was no worse and often better than those men. But I judged myself very poorly against the impossible ideal in my head, a standard neither I nor probably any man could ever have met, and which was so far above me I was disheartened even by thinking about.

The sad thing is that these insights win me back not one second of the time I've lost, not one single chance I let slip by. I'm still right here, while those other young men, and those young women have moved far, far ahead and are now middle aged people with life lived and expectations of a partner much greater.

Love is Blind

All our lives we love illusion
Neatly caught between confusion
And the need to know we are alive
 
The Residents "God in Three Persons"


People in relationships often come to hate each other. “You’ve changed”, “You’re not the man I married”, “You weren’t the thoughtless man you are now when we first met”.

This of course is almost certainly nonsense. Once past early adulthood people’s characters and habits don’t change very much.

What happens is that when people fall in love, they blind themselves. They take up with someone they hardly know and in passion and desire blind themselves to that person’s flaws, or at best convince themselves that the other person will change for the best.

Love is – as the old saying has it – blind.

Sooner or later passionate love fades away, and if a couple, or even just one partner has initially blinded themselves to their lover’s faults, the other person seems to have changed for the worse. But it is mere perception that has changed, the other person was always like that and the disappointed partner is simply and literally dis-illusioned.

All that has really happened is that one person is finally seeing the other literally dispassionately, seeing the flaws and faults, the incompatibilities that were always there, that they even knew about but denied or ignored.

Sometimes even then people foolishly persist, knowing they are unhappy, in the sad and wasteful delusion that the other person will change. People’s fundamental characters don’t change. My mother stayed with my father despite it being obvious very early that their personalities were ill-matched, and at her end she commented that she hadn’t had much of a life. I have never fallen passionately in love. I have only fallen in love with two women, neither of whom I could have, both of whom I knew quite well, whom I loved while being able to see their flaws and loved without hope..

Sadly for me, they could see my flaws all too clearly as my flaws are many and close to the surface, so I must do without love.

Oh my fortunate deluded sisters and brothers. Because most of you find a partner even if only for a while despite delusion, in your need or your passion.

Solitude is the Nurse of Love

It should go without saying that the belief is nonsense that there is only one person in the world for us.

We fall in love with those who are close by us, whom we know at work, whom we see in our local pub, who lives two streets away, or whom we deliberately seek proximity to by way of computer dating or Lonely Hearts columns.

We don’t have to spend decades trying to find the one woman or man for us, until we finally discover them half the world a way in a small town 90 miles north north-east of Novosibersk.

It isn’t sheer luck that our life-partner is usually somebody who lives near us. We fall in love with a girl we know at school, with a man we meet at university, with someone who happened to advertise for a date in the same paper that we read. We are formed to fall in love with those nearby, those who are available to us.

We fall in love largely from propinquity, from being close in location, and from little more. If we are lucky, we fall in love with someone who is a match for us in character and interests and achievements and background, but more often than not sheer propinquity is all the basis for so-called love.

In these cases “love” is no more than a passing phase that is propelled by loneliness, or lust, or the need to dominate, or even boredom. If there is no similarity of character, no shared interests, the relationship either disintegrates painfully, or - more sadly - carries on with the partners continuing to delude themselves that things will change, that their relationship will work out in the end.

These relationships don’t work out in the end, We all know people, long married, who do nothing but grouch about their wife or their husband, who could stop their own frustration simply by acknowledging their husband or wife was not a good match for them, and now that the kids are grown both parties would be happier if they separated.

But people rarely do this – because they are human and they are therefore afraid. It’s better to have someone to come home to, even when rubbing along with them is more a matter of friction than delight.

I am not faced with such a quandary. Women never desired me, and looking at myself and my history and what has become of me I don’t blame them.

My quandary is that being human myself, I fall in love too. And ironically, I don’t fall unrealistically in love. I love a woman who is a good friend to me, who is flawed, and who I see is flawed. I know who and what I am, and I usnderstand she cannot love me. I doubt any woman now will. But the only thing unrealistic in my love is I’m a ruined man with a ruined life who should never even presume to want a woman like her. That said, I am the ruin of a man who might have been a good match for her.

No matter, what is past is past.

But funnily enough, we have – or more honestly once had - a lot in common, unlike so many people who are in love. And I don’t look at her and think her a paragon. So many of the things she does I can see are rooted in her flaws and faults, I am content that she is human and so therefore flawed, and I know where many of her flaws and problems originate, so they endear her to me.

A friend said to me recently in regard of her “you’ve fallen for her like a soldier in a military hospital falls for his nurse” and I’m content to agree with him. She’s been a kind and supportive friend in a time of my need, when she didn’t have to be. Why not fall for someone with such an admirable quality? We can only fall in love with the people around us, not with strangers we have never met.

We have to fall in love with someone, it’s how we’re made, and it’s in the end all we’re here for. We are brought into the world by way of love, and by way of love we bring others into the world for their own momentary taste of being. If we are lucky that is, which I have not been - I will pass life on to no one.

Loving someone places no duty on them to love one back.

I’m sad she can’t love me, but I’m glad I love her, because she is good and it means I have deeply recognised and appreciated her goodness and have a little of it in my life.

The Tower of Blood and the Graily Hole

Movement forwards still feels to me like no movement at all.

Yesterday I was prescribed V1agra, which - should I be lucky enough to pull, never mind find a partner - permits me four fucks a month. Four is better than none. Gift horse and all that.

The GP, a young English Indian woman called Neet1ka, kindly permitted me to have them despite my not being in a relationship of any kind. “When you start a relationship you’ll have them to hand. Take one an hour before you have intercourse”.

Which to me is like saying “this is the magic ring, put it on an hour before you find the Holy Grail". Or in my case, the Graily Hole.

So with my four little blue pills in my pocket, and the eventual intention to try one to make sure it works, I set off into Manchester full of a scratchy painful sore throat.

I thought – “Well no normal woman is even going to throw you a sympathy fuck at the moment, so if you’re going to test this you’re going to have to test it on your own before trying it with a living person. You’re going to have to see whether you can get a hard-on off a wank.

You’ll be better off with some new porn to get it going.”

So I went to Shude HiII Books and had a look at the DVDs available along the walls. Not the cheapest shop but I’m known to the owner, and I know he’s honest, so I’m not going to get ripped off.

The place is scruffy but well-themed and stuff is easy to find. At the front of the shop are secondhand books, On tables at the back are hoppers full of old softcore magazines, and round the walls are Hardcore DVDs running in themes organised from new releases, through anal, amateur girls, hardcore Milfs and Gilfs (Mums/Grans I’d Like To Fuck ie middle-aged and old women), ethnic women, particularly Russian, Japanese, Indians, women pissing, Spanking and Various Fetish, Transsexuals).

I knew exactly what I was looking for. Anything heavily anally oriented, with pretty women being bummed, gaping their arseholes, and having their arseholes eaten, particularly anything produced by The Evil Empire, anything by Rocco Siffredi or Belladonna, and anything by Max Hardcore. There was only one Belladonna video, made when she was pregnant, which wasn’t what I was looking for. Although I find Belladonna ugly, I enjoy that she’s one of the few women in porn who actually likes filth, and spends a lot of time with her fingers or tongue up other women’s arseholes, or having her own arsehole variously abused.

In the end I chose an old Ben Dover dvd because it featured a couple of models I used to like, Rocco Siffredi’s “Obsession With Supersluts” and Jules Jordan’s “Ass Stretchers P.O.V.” Nothing I find particularly exciting, but at least new to me and and in the my area of interest.

While I was paying, the owner told me his dad had died of a series of brain haemorrhages earlier in the morning. I said I was sorry to hear it. I’ve been there myself so I know how he feels.

As back up, I bought from a newsagents a back issue of Buttman I hadn’t previously seen, about a year old,

and book of hardcore photographs by Richard Kern from Waterstones.


I’ve given these a cursory look-through and despite my hopes and the money I’ve spent, I felt not turned on at all.

The problem is, I’ve not so much seen through porn, as seen past it. Mostly it just makes me feel sad now. The conjunction of flesh, the sight of flesh, does nothing for me, because it isn’t my flesh, and more than that it isn’t the flesh of somebody I want.

All it stands for now is the absence of what I long for.

Despite the money I’ve paid for it, I think I’ll have to rely on my benumbed imagination and hope the Viagra makes the blood flow south anyway.

Unlikeable, Undesirable, Unwantable

I've woken up in the early hours and can't get back to sleep because this thought keeps racing round my head so I'm writing it down and owning it.. Here's how far these problems go back:

I didn't have a 21st Birthday Do. Not for friends, not for family. Not even drinks. My parents offered but I turned it down. Because I thought nobody would come anyway. I can't remember what I did that night, except I stayed home.

Same with my 18th.

I preferred not to have one because I was certain and ashamed that I would be proved right and no-one would turn up.

It could fairly be said that I didn't have a life because I thought no-one would turn up, so I stayed home.


These problems go back a very long way and has been messing up my life since puberty. It's frightening